The Trapmaster
by visitor-of-time
Summary: Post-Reichenbach: Sherlock and John find a vigilante and need to decide what to do with this powerful new foe...or friend. It's difficult to tell the difference. Sherlock and OC. SOMEBODY PLEASE WRITE A BETTER SUMMARY x)


**Post-Reichenbach**

**Of course, i do not own any part of Sherlock BBC, but i do own my OC**

**My first Sherlock fic so please be kind.**

221B_ MM_

Mycroft placed the thick manila file on his little brother's cluttered coffee table, tilting his head demandingly. Sherlock simply frowned at the gesture and continued to tune his violin.

"Sherlock, you haven't had a case for weeks and you've already ruined most of the flat. .It," John ordered, glancing up from his laptop to nod to Mycroft. They both knew Sherlock wouldn't be able to resist despite his current mood. After bearing a few more loathing stares from his brother, Mycroft sighed and began to make his way out of the flat, cell phone in hand. The younger Holmes let out a few screeching notes on his still-not-completely-tuned violin; his signal for his brother to leave. John's phone vibrated in his pocket.

I'll leave it to you then. –MH

As usual, just e-mail me if any more details come up. –JW

Of course, the contents of the file were already spread across the table by the time John put his phone back in his pocket. Profiles, memory disks, and developed images passed through Sherlock's hands as his bright eyes scanned them with excitement. The thrill of a new case, especially one from Mycroft, was contagious and John's blog post for the day would have to wait. He joined his flatmate at the coffee table and began to look through the files of the victims. John was welcomed with a mug shot of a Brazilian drug lord, an Italian Mobster, and an American CEO.

"Wait, Sherlock, these are the victims?"

"Yes. They seem to have little or no physical trauma however. Financial trauma though. Billions of dollars John, just withdrawn from their projects." Sherlock was sticking the printouts of evidence and crime scenes to their wall, fingers tapping in anticipation. He turned quickly to his flatmate. "Now tell me John, why would some of the most powerful criminals suddenly become docile and stop funding their most successful operations?"

"I suppose they didn't suddenly have an urge to become honest civilians?" Sherlock hot him a disapproving look.

"Right, ok," John attempted, "How about the CEO, how does he fit into this? Major business man at Acryverse, says here?" John pointed to the picture in the man's profile; a lanky, middle aged Caucasian. "Definitely doesn't look like a drug lord or a mafia mobster to me and his profile doesn't say much after that."

Sherlock was already tapping away on his phone, triumphantly holding up the screen to show John his search results.

"Matthew Mortell, accused of fraud and mafia affiliations in Russia three years ago and somehow managed to escape after a week of confinement."

"Great. Lanky mafia. Why exactly is Mycroft worried then? These guys are getting punishment the law could never give, and Mr. Lanky-mafia was caught and sent to a high security jail. I don't see how this is a problem, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and put his hands together, glaring at the victim's developed photos from their respective "crime scenes".

"He doesn't like vigilantes."

"Alright but isn't that sort of what you're doing? Sure, Lestrade formally hired you this year but you're not really bound by law…"

"Exactly." Sherlock turned on his heel and went back to the manila envelope. He realized the important information HAD to be the digital files. He snatched up the memory stick and "borrowed" John's laptop.

"These people have practically their own armies. It's not like someone could just go up to them and punch them in the face." John gestured to the Italian mobster's bruised face. Sherlock's head snapped up, hearing what he needed but not quite comprehending it yet.

"Say that again. _Exactly_ as you said it."

"Um, these people have practically their own armies. It's not like…someone could just go up to them and punch them in the…face." John was unsure of what Sherlock was looking for.

"YES JOHN. It must be someone from within their little group. Sabotage, even mutiny." Sherlock was confident, smirking as he did when he was about to finalize a case.

"Or someone just happened to take down a Brazilian gang, an Italian Mob, _and_ an American private army just to punch their respective leaders in the face…I wish I could do THAT during the war," John chuckled darkly. He looked to Sherlock for a reaction to his humor but was met with another one completely. His flatmate had a completely bewildered scowl on his face, a contortion of facial muscles that happened to him whenever something went unplanned.

"John, look at this." Sherlock held out his laptop in which he opened the single file from the memory stick that was taped to the inside of the manila file. He went back to the fist frame for John to watch, Poor security camera footage from around 7:30pm started and John could just barely recognize the lanky American CEO Mortell from the Profile. As expected, he moved with an entourage of well-built but inconspicuous body-guards around a warehouse junction. He sauntered out of his Land Rover, coat collar turned up against the cold, and approached the single grey building. After giving orders, the dozen in his entourage pulled out handguns and kicked down the double-doors of the warehouse in front of them while the American stood outside waiting. Preparing his own semi-automatic.

All was silent and John looked to Sherlock in confusion. "Is tha-"

Suddenly he heard metallic crashes from the laptop and whipped his head back, slightly startled. There was an eruption of gunshots and definite sounds of a struggle. One by one, the tree-like bodyguards were thrown out of the warehouse like they were nothing than bags of groceries. In the midst of the panic, Mortell raised his gun with trembling hands, attempting to shoot at the target his skilled entourage failed to eliminate. A single, well aimed shot sent his gun to the ground and damaging his trigger finger severely.

A figure leaned in the doorway, blocked out by the shadows and features lost beneath the contrast of the video footage. Mortell, cradling his injured hand, began to back himself away from the warehouse doors and finally broke out in a full sprint. The figure at the door pulled out what seemed to be a cell phone from their pocket and pressed a single button, lowering a section of the tarmac at the edge of the property just enough to make the scrawny CEO trip and fall to a quivering heap. John's eyes widened as the figure walked out of the shadow of the doors. The features were definitely blurred and darkened, but he could easily make out the silhouette of a young woman. She waved directly at the camera, presumably planted by Mortell himself, and forced him up by the collar. She spoke to him, in audible to the camera, and he laughed and spat in her face. Calmly, she let go of him and straightened his tie for him, only to punch him squarely in the cheek. She shoved him back in his Land Rover and walked back into the warehouse, waving at the limping bodyguards that rushed to follow their superior.

The clip finished from there and John stood speechless. He had seen his own share of combat wonders, men who would take down others twice their size, but never a woman of her size disarming and pummeling _twelve_ grown, highly trained men.

"Judging by Mortell's profile, she stands relatively at around 5'7" maybe 5'8" factoring in the perspective," Sherlock remarked, hands resting under his chin.

"Christ, Sherlock, what does Mycroft want us to do with her then? Walk up to her door and ask for her motive over some tea?"

Sherlock shut John's laptop and swivled out of his seat.

"Exactly."

**Alrighty, reviews make me happy and get chapters out faster so gogogo!**

**I also need a few names starting with "O" for my next chapter, so leave some suggestions eh?**


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